


Dating Advice From a Vampire

by catherinebruce (catbru)



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 01:31:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catbru/pseuds/catherinebruce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well, you may need to mace someone. A burglar could come along and try to snatch your purse. Or an unsavory type may just try and steal your virtue.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dating Advice From a Vampire

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I blame this one on my roommate, who gave me a line and I ran with it.

**Introduction: A Vampire's Guide to Dating**

Elena paused at the grand door, fist poised over the hard wood. The sky was clear, the air crisp with the touch of winter, and all in all it was a beautiful day. It conflicted with her inner turmoil over what she was about to do. The day should be gloomy, preferably with thundering clouds and ominous skies. Instead, it was so cheery outside that it made her teeth hurt.

Before she could turn away and run to her car, she swallowed her pride and steeled her nerves for what would probably be the most stupid thing she had ever done and rapt her knuckles on the door.

It swung open immediately, revealing the reason why she had come today. Damon took a sip of bourbon, eyed her up and down, and smirked. “I was wondering how long you were going to just stand there.”

Elena blinked at him. “You knew I was here? Why didn't you let me in?”

"And seem like an over eager puppy? Heaven forbid.”

Releasing her breath in exasperation, she walked past him. Elena stopped in the middle of the living foyer and looked around, hoping Stefan was not around. That would make what she was about to ask all the more weird.

"I have a favor to ask,” she began. Then paused. Opened her mouth, closed it again, then shut her eyes as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I'm always open to favors,” he said, and she could feel his leer burning into her back.

"Is Stefan around?” she asked instead as she turned to him.

His eyes hardened as he threw back the rest of his drink. “No.”

Just like that. No. No explanation, no innuendo, nothing. Just no.

She nodded with a mumble. “Good.”

Curious, he slunk toward her. The look in his eye changed, though he remained guarded. “What? Not here to try and win back your one true love?”

She gave him a pointed look before rolling her eyes. “No.”

If he could give monosyllabic answers, so could she.

Then why, pray tell, are you here?” The slink turned into a saunter as he flashed a mischievous grin. “Unless you're here to woo me. Not that I would mind, but I warn you, I expect flowers and hearts and doodles in your notebook of 'Mrs. Damon Salvatore' as you daydream about me in homeroom.”

She laughed. It was all she could do, for that was the safest response she had. Teasing each other was safe, or at least safer than any alternative she could come up with. “Have you been reading teen novels again, Damon?”

You caught me,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. Then he bypassed her for the bar and poured himself another drink. “Seriously, why are you here?”

Her mouth opened and closed again, then she shook her head as she joined him. She reached around him to grab a tumbler and the decanter. She poured a bit too much for herself before tossing it back, the burn in her throat easing her nerves.

I need advice,” she finally managed to get out. Pouring herself another drink, she sipped it as she eyed him over the rim of the glass.

His eyebrows furrowed in brief concern. “What kind of advice?”

She knew why he was worried. Her transition from human food to human blood had been less than pretty. He had been there to show her the whole way, though, and she was proud that her body count was still zero.

It was Damon that had gotten her through everything of the change. Stefan had been unable to help her when it came to feeding, his previous proclivities toward more the more darker aspects of their kind preventing that.

So, it came to little surprise when the only person she could think of in this predicament was Damon. He had helped her through everything else, so perhaps he could help her now.

I need dating advice.”

He actually choked on his drink as his eyes grew wide. “ _What?_ ”

You heard me,” she said. She was proud that she only stammered a little.

He stared at her, lips twitching in a sneer. “Why the hell are you asking me? Why not someone else?”

Drawing in a shaky breath, Elena investigated the bottom of her glass. “Because this isn't something that I can just ask anybody. Bonnie wouldn't understand, and Caroline's situation is slightly different.”

And you can't ask Stefan,” he said, voice rolling his brother's name out in a mocking tone.

Yeah, because _that's_ not forty different kinds of awkward as asking you.” Elena sighed and set her glass on the counter before looking up at him. “I need to know how to be in different social settings with humans, and dating is one of them.”

We hardly date humans, Elena. We usually just grab a quick taste and be done with it.”

She gave him a pointed look. “What about me? And Andi. You dated her for a while.”

His jaw ticked at the reporter's name. “If you call _that_ dating, Sweetheart, I'd love to hear your definition of screwing around.”

Elena fought back the blush that she knew blossomed on her cheeks. She kicked herself for bringing up Andi, but she was desperate, and desperation had her grasping at straws better left buried.

Please Damon.” She hated that she was near begging.

Do you want to know what dating a human is _really_ like? What kissing one is really like?” he asked. When she nodded, he leaned in close, breath wafting over her ear. “It's like licking your meal when you're starving to death.”

Her eyes widened and the words rushed out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Is that what it was like with me?”

Damon stared at her, and the length of it made her shift, wishing she could take back what she had said. Elena was not one to bring any of their past canoodlings up, for reasons she rather not looked at.

Finally, he looked away. “Not quite.”

He finished his drink and slammed the tumbler on the counter. For a moment he leaned heavily on the wood surface, sending a death glare at the fireplace. “Fine. You want advice so you can find a starving-ever-after with Prince Blood Bag, you got it.”

“Damon, that's not why-”

He did not let her finish as he pushed away and headed toward the staircase, effectively ending their conversation. “We start tomorrow.”

**Lesson Number One: Finding the Right Prey**

This time, Elena let herself in to the Salvatore boarding house. Damon was no where to be seen, nor was Stefan.

It had been a month since she had ended her relationship with the younger brother. She had seen the edge her need to feed on live humans put him on, and her solution to his problem was to take away the temptation. She missed him, would probably always miss him, but it was for the best.

A month may have been a drop in the bucket for a vampire, but for a teenager, it was an eternity wrapped in forever.

Of course, that just made her interactions with Damon more confusing than ever. She had half expected him to swoop in at the next possible moment in the attempts to sweep her off her feet, but he had set up some invisible boundary and she was not sure where she should cross. Not that she wanted to. Nor did his inaction hurt. At all.

Really, she was glad of it. She had hoped that the heightened emotions of her transition would make her feelings more known, but all she was left with was a large tangle of emotions that she did not know where to begin to unravel.

“Breaking and entering is still illegal.”

Elena jumped, cursing herself for not having heard him come down. She thought she had been done with being snuck up on by quiet feet and fast moves, but he stood right behind her with an unreadable expression. His hair was still damp from his shower, black shirt unbuttoned, and feet bare.

“You're one to talk,” she said as she refused to take a step back.

“I got you something,” he said. From his pocket, he pulled out something long and black. She was not sure what she was looking at, and part of her really did not want to know what it was he held in his hands. With Damon, it could not be good.

“And that would be?” she asked.

“Mace.”

Whatever she had been expecting, that certainly was not it. “You got me pepper spray?”

“If you're going to date horny teenage boys, I'm pretty sure this will come in handy.”

Elena sighed in exasperation. “You said you were going to help me. I didn't realize making fun was part of the scenario.”

He gave her a look. “Do you even know me?”

“Damon,” she warned.

“Look, this is as much for them as it is for you. They get too fresh, you get too hungry, just spray their face. Trust me, this will take care of any hunger issues you have.” He sniffed the canister and made a face, even through the thick plastic shell. “This really smells.”

She blinked at him. She had no idea if he was being serious, or if he was being helpful in his unhelpful way. “I doubt I'll need to mace my date.”

“Well, you may need to mace someone. A burglar could come along and try to snatch your purse. Or an unsavory type may just try and steal your virtue.”

Exasperation seeped into her joints. “ _Damon.”  
_

He flicked a metal ring at the top. “It goes on your keychain.”

Elena glared at him, seriously beginning to doubt her decision to ask him for help. It had been hard enough swallowing her pride and asking him to forgo his. She should have just gone to Caroline.

“Okay, never mind, forget I asked for your help,” she said as she walked toward the door.

He grabbed her arm as she passed him, halting her progress with his touch and a look. “I'm giving it to you, the best way I know how.”

“Wait this? Are you serious?” She swatted at the offending tube and rolled her eyes. “I call this being a snarky bastard.”

He leveled her with a stare. She stayed rooted in her spot, unable to look away. “I told you before, we don't date humans. Anything with them is just an appetizer before the meal. Playing with our food.”

Elena did not want to feel offended, but she was. Up until recently, she had been just as he described. “So that's what it was, then?”

He was silent for a moment, and something softened in his gaze. “There's always an exception to the rules, Elena.”

Something tugged at that ball of emotion, but she was not ready to see which way the string pulled. Clearing her throat, she glanced down at his feet, wondering at how she rarely saw him without shoes on. It was a silly thing to notice, a small detail in the grand scheme of things, but something about his bare toes tethered her to reality.

“Damon, I need this,” she said, voice small as she studied his big toe. “I can't keep depending on you forever.”

“Why not?”

Her eyes snapped back up to his. There was an intensity there she was not ready for, not yet and not with him. Swallowing, she looked off to the side.

“You can't be there every second babysitting my every move,” she said. “I _need_ this.”

“You're stubborn as hell, you know that,” he said without rancor. His grip on her arm tightened briefly before he let her go. “Lesson Number One: Finding the right prey.”

“I'm not a lion on the prowl,” she said.

“Hunting and dating are not mutually exclusive,” he pointed out. “And all I know about dating humans is the fun in hunting them down. You came to me, you get the lessons my way.”

Elena sighed. She knew she was going to regret this.

Xo

He took her to a bar the next town over. No use hunting so close to home, he had said.

It was a seedy establishment as country songs older than her grated out of an antiquated jukebox. The floor was sticky with alcohol and the remnaints of things she did not want to think about. She worried at first, but he reminded her that she was legal.

“I'm not twenty-one,” she pointed out.

His smirk was slow and sly. “I just meant you're no longer jail bait, Sweet Cheeks.”

She had silently cursed as her cheeks flamed before she pushed passed him to sit at the bar. He slid in the stool next to her, ordering a drink for the both of them. She figured out why he brought her here when the bartender did not ask either for an I.D.

Now she was on her fifth shot of tequila, perusing the crowd with a critical eye. “What about him?”

He turned to where she was pointing and crinkled his nose. “No way in hell.”

Elena was getting exasperated. “Why not this time?”

“He smells like marijuana and old gym socks.”

She wondered how he could smell that from where he sat but decided to take his word for it. “I guess that is not a good combination.”

“Nope,” he said. “You'd get a buzz from the drug and a nose full of that nasty corn chip smell. A nauseating combination.”

Despite herself, she giggled at his description. “That's so gross.”

“Trust me, I lived through the sixties,” he told her in a conspiratory whisper. “I spent the decade on second-hand drug abuse.”

Shaking her head, she finished her drink and flagged the bartender for another. “Let's hope history does not repeat itself.”

“One can only hope,” he agreed.

She continued to survey the crowd. It was so much easier tracking down a suitable meal than a potential suitor, she decided.

Her eyes fell on the pool table, where a man stood rubbing chalk on the tip of his pool stick. Elena tilted her head as she tried to catch any whiff of questionable odors from him, but he was too far away and there were too many people in between them. “What about him?”

Damon studied the man before he heaved a heavy sigh. “Smells okay. Let's just hope he turns out to be a douche so we can get this over with.”

Elena swatted his arm. “So, what do I do now?”

He stared at her. “Seriously? You've dated before, Elena, how do you think it works?”

She bit her lip. “I never actually approached anyone.”

He rolled his eyes. “You go up. You say hi.”

“That's it?”

Damon studied her for a moment. “For you, yes.”

She ignored the slight flutter in her chest. “But what if it doesn't work?”

“Then he's a moron, or gay. Either way, not worth your time,” he said.

“Damon,” she hissed.

“Elena.”

They had a brief stare off, neither willing to cave. It was the bartender who came by and asked if they were ready for another refill that ended their contest of wills. Damon grimaced at the bartender before nodding at their empty shot glasses.

“Just whatever you do, don't mention school, homework, or that your diet includes O Positive,” he ground out. “Make idle chatter and be all Elena like.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he just tipped her shot glass into her mouth before shoving her in the stranger's general direction. She staggered a bit before catching her footing, adjusting her clothes as she glanced around. No one seemed to have noticed, and she shot Damon a withering glare as she headed for the pool table.

“Saunter a little,” she heard. Whipping her head around, she saw Damon staring at her. “You heard me. Don't scamper like a puppy, put some sway in those hips.”

Elena glared at him. She did not _saunter,_ did not _sway._ That was too Katherine like. Sauntering indicated seduction, and she was about as good as Damon's natural ability to tan. Still, she loosened her gate and allowed herself to flow on the length of her heels. No sauntering to be seen, but perhaps a bit of natural sashay.

There was a big difference.

Elena waited a moment as her prey – potential date, she corrected herself – finished up his shot. When he stood up, she ignored his friends and walked right up to him.

“Hello,” she began as she offered a shy smile. Nibbling her lip, she pushed her hair behind an ear as he straightened a little and returned her smile with an inquisitive one. “Before I get my hopes up, you don't happen to be single, are you?”

xo

Damon tried not to break the shot glass in his hand as he listened to Elena chat with this wannabe.

He hated this. Hated her. No he did not, but he still did.

A couple walked up to the bar, and without turning, he barked at them. “The seat's taken.”

There was a pause in their conversation and a slight stammer before they moved on.

He flagged down the bartender, who filled his glass without asking what he was having. He almost asked for the man to leave the bottle, but did not want Elena to come back and know that this effected him at all.

Because it did not. Not in the slightest.

His jaw clenched when he heard her laugh at something the man said. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her hand flutter to the stranger's arm.

Without turning, he growled. “The seat's taken.”

xo

Either five or fifty minutes later, a giddy Elena nearly skipped back to the bar where Damon was waiting. He was having an intense staring contest with his shot glass.

“His name is Joe,” she began.

“So I heard,” he said.

She slid into her former seat, mildly surprised it was still vacant in the crowded room. “You heard?”

“Kind of hard not to, Elena,” he said. His voice was crisp and curt.

Swallowing her frustration at his tone, she twirled her empty shot glass in her hand. “How did I do?”

He bowed his head, shoulders slumped. “You did fine.”

Worry nagged at her. He was acting weirder than normal, and by now he should be drilling her ears with incessant remarks about how this Joe guy smelled of something offensive, or that he felt like a serial rapist just waiting. Instead, he seemed defeated. “Are you okay?”

Rubbing his face with his hands, he chuckled. “Fine and dandy. Let's go.”

Without waiting for her to say something in return, he grabbed his leather jacket and slipped it on as he walked toward the door. She had to scramble to keep up.

“Where are we going?”

“Home,” he snapped. Then he stopped, stared at the sky, and turned on her. For a moment she thought he was going to yell at her, to demand she stop this, to do _something._ Instead, he shook his head. “You got what you came for. Now it's time for the next lesson.”

“And that would be?”

He stepped into her personal space and fingered the collar of her jacket. An eyebrow rose as he smirked. “Lesson Number Two: Dressing For the Kill.”

Damon gave a short tug on her collar before turning back toward his car.

**Lesson Number Two: Dressing For the Kill**

Elena contemplated the shirt she held up with an air of curiosity. She and Joe had not made any plans just yet, so she was not sure where they would go. Or if he would even call her. Still, it did not hurt to look through her closet and consider the possibilities.

Possibilities were her life now. She had an eternity ahead of her when a few short (long and forever away) months ago she was not sure she would live to see the dawn. She was free from the obligations set on her by a random twist of fate, yet fettered by the infinite tomorrows.

She had to get a hold of her emotions yesterday. They roiled around inside her chest, churned her stomach, and tugged and pulled at every aspect of her psyche.

When she was a sophomore, before her parents died and she was blind to the world, Elena knew a girl. Sara had been unusual, more emotional than even a teenager had any right to be. One minute she would be happy and near manic in her glee, and then it was like a switch was flipped and she could cry for days. Anything could set her off, so the other students ignored her. She was sent to a psychiatrist, given pills for a common mental disorder, and for the first few weeks everything was normal again. Then one day, the girl snapped as she lashed out at everyone, screaming at the top of her lungs as she tore through decorations for a dance she had spent weeks on. Apparently, she had been misdiagnosed, and Adderall was definitely not for someone who was really bipolar.

Until recently, Elena had been unable to imagine those kinds of intense emotions. Now she swam in them until she was not sure what it was she felt any more.

It was one of the many reasons why she was doing this. Elena needed to sort through her jumbled emotions to find where she was, and not this hot mess of hormonal primordial ooze.

She could have easily gone to Caroline. In the privacy of her bedroom, she could admit this fact. Hell, she could have gone to Stefan, for she knew he had experience in dating humans. They had been together, after all, so he would know the tricks necessary to her surviving a date without transitioning into some blood thirsty monster.

The simple fact of it was, she needed Damon. The need clawed in her throat, kept her awake, tormented her with tantalizing images and sensory overloads. He had taken her aside, shown her how his life – _their_ life – worked. He taught her, guided her, and because of him, there was not a path of bloodless bodies lying in her wake. So yes, she needed him, wanted him, and it would be so easy to make that change.

The problem was, did she want him because she needed him, or need him because she wanted him?

Elena refused to make a decision until she knew the answer. She owed him that. She refused to allow history to repeat itself, for while she knew how he felt – or had felt – about her, she could not string him along in a relationship that could end in her never have loved him at all.

Throwing the shirt on the bed, she entered her bathroom and rooted through the drawers until she found her curling iron. It had rained on the way home, warranting a shower, and now her hair frizzed in the crisp air.

She could feel the change in the atmosphere even before she exited her bathroom. Keeping her eyes forward, Elena focused on the task of plugging in her curling iron before she spoke.

“Breaking and entering is still illegal,” she said. Casting her glance in the mirror, she eyed Damon as he made himself home on her comforter. He laid on her shirt, and she scowled at the thought of the wrinkles that would cause.

It was easier to be mad at him for ruining her clothing than it was to face him with her earlier realizations swirling around in her mind.

“You're not going to curl your hair, are you?” he asked.

It would normally be an unusual question to ask. From anyone else, it would be, but he knew why he asked it. “No, Damon. I'm not taking beauty tips from look-alikes. I'm just taming the beast.”

He relaxed, and she wondered when he had been tense. The silence hung between them as she waited for the iron to heat up. Elena searched for something to say, but uncertainty held her tongue. She worked to avoid him instead, misting her hair down to protect it from damage, running a brush through to get rid of nonexistent tangles, anything to keep her distracted.

It was not until she was running the hot iron down her hair, emboldened by the scent of warm hair, that she found her voice. “Get your shoes off my blanket.”

Instead of getting off the bed altogether, as she had hoped her comment would spur him to do, he shifted until his shoes dangled over the side as he propped his head on his hand. Damon watched as she worked her hair, and she tried to ignore him and concentrated instead on smoothing the flyaway strands.

Then she was done, and she had no other distraction to cling to. “What are you doing here?”

With a shake sharp of his head, he turned from her reflection to look at her. “I thought I would help you.”

“I can dress myself,” she said.

“Nope.” With a smooth grace, he rolled off her bed and ventured to her dresser. “You asked for my help, and you're going to get it.”

Before she could stop him, he slid her top drawer open and rifled through her underwear. “I recommend anything other than anything that has black, lace, frills, or any combination thereof.”

“Damon!” She swatted his hands away before he could pull out a thong and slammed the drawer shut.

“You don't happen to have any boxer-briefs, do you? I hear they're in fashion for you girls. Or was that five years ago?”

“You're not going to pick out my underwear!”

He held up his hands as he stepped away. “You wanted my help. I figured that included all inclusive access.”

“You figured wrong,” she said, face scarlet.

He snapped his fingers in disappointment. “There goes my plans for a modeling session.”

She withered him with a glare. “The odds of you getting a floor show are slim to none.”

“Never say never, Elena,” he warned. He shifted until he was behind her, both looking at their reflection in the vanity. He sifted his hands through her hair, pulling it back and away from her neck. The soft brush of his fingers against the nape of her neck sent shivers down her spine and his proximity was not helping her thinking process at all. “What do you think, up or down?”

Elena's throat worked in convulsive swallows. “Down.”

“A shame,” he commented with a trace of his fingers against her throat. “But perhaps for the best. Don't want Joe to get the wrong idea.”

He let her hair fall as he took a step back, and she could feel the acute loss of his touch.

She turned to him, looked up into his unfathomable eyes. There was so much she wanted to say. This was not about Joe, this was about _them._ She wanted to know her own mind, for the both of them, before she did anything they both would later regret.

The trill of her phone broke through her thoughts. Glancing at the screen, she saw a number flashing that she vaguely remembered. Answering it, she discovered it was Joe.

Apparently, she had done something right during what she considered to be a travesty of flirting. They talked a little, and she hoped she laughed in the right places, and when she hung up, she had a date.

She beamed at Damon, ignoring the look on his face. “The carnival is in his town next weekend. He wants to take me.”

“Yippy,” he said, his sarcasm as palpable as the tension between them.

Her shoulders slumped as she studied the cracks in the ceiling. “Come on, Damon, I need to do this.”

“Why?” he demanded. His eyes were intense as once again he invaded her personal space. She refused to step away. “This is an exercise in futility, Elena, and you know it.”

He was searching for something in her own eyes, but apparently she was better than she thought. He kept looking but could find nothing.

“Because if I can't do this, what am I good for?” she demanded. “If I can't go on one simple date with someone without wanting to tear into their throat and devour them whole,” she closed her eyes as she bit her lip, the image more tantalizing than she cared to admit. “Then what is the point of this?”

“There's only so much I can show you,” he admitted as he brushed her hair behind an ear. His eyes stayed on her, flickering back and forth as though trying to capture each of hers at once. “Maybe you should have asked Stefan.”

Elena wanted to rip his hair out, to tear him to shreds for even suggesting it. She wanted to pull him close and never let him leave, and shove him away before she could hurt him more. Finally, she swallowed her pride as she admitted to him something she never normally would. “I need this. I need _you._ ”

He looked away, exhaling as he took in her bedroom. She watched as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down, and she wanted to graze her teeth over it. “Some days I don't think you even know what you want.”

She choked out a laugh as she shook her head in a frantic motion. “I don't. Trust me, I don't, and I'm so sorry, and I can't-”

He pulled her close, and her words were lost in the muffle of his shoulder. She clutched at the material of his shirt, not wanting him to disappear on her. “When you figure it out, I want to be the first to know.”

His admission stilled her hysterics. It was different than the last time, when he left her on her own to figure out what she wanted. He wanted to know, one way or the other, how it was she felt. And he was not giving her demands or ultimatums. He was giving her time.

Elena choked, pulling him close so that he could not see her. He always could, though, even when she thought herself lost. It would be so easy, _too_ easy, to just cave and take and take and take. But she had seen, first hand, what it could and would do to him. He would love her whole heartedly one minute, and the next hate her with everything he was worth. She did not want to be that person who nearly drove him to an unspeakable edge. “I don't want to be like that.”

“You won't,” he promised. She wondered if he even knew what it was she was talking about, because she was not even sure she knew herself.

“Now,” he said as he pulled her back from him. Gone was the seriousness as he smirked at her once again.”If you really want to lure in your human prey, may I suggest something that is totally you?”

xo

Stefan contemplated his existence the best way he knew how; through the never ending volumes chronicling his life. He missed Elena, could still hear her in his periphery. Still, he knew why she had done what she had done, even as he hated it.

“Going to categorize your life in one paragraph or less?” he heard from his door.

“What do you want,” he demanded without looking up.

“Oh, some brotherly advice wouldn't hurt,” Damon countered, the smirk evident in his voice. “That's what we're here for, right?”

Stefan sighed. He had no time for this. Still, though, what could his brother possibly ask him for that he already did not know? “What is it?”

There was a slight shift, a palpable tension that emanated from the door, and Stefan was helpless to look up. His brother looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “I need some advice.”

Stefan nodded before turning back to his journal. “All your teen books not helping?”

“Why does everyone assume I read teen novels?” Damon demanded as he sauntered into the room. “The one time I'm caught reading _City of Glass_ and everyone goes and makes their assumptions.”

“It is a teen novel, Damon,” Stefan pointed out.

“It was like reading a train wreck, Stefan,” Damon pointed out.

Stefan sighed, hoping that if he ignored his older brother he would go away. Finally, his curiosity got the best of him. “Fine. What do you want?”

“Well, hypothetically speaking, say I want to date a human.”

Stefan snorted.

“And hypothetically speaking, how would I go about it without wanting to snack on them like those delicious cucumber sandwiches?”

Stefan rolled his eyes. “Same way you deal with anything else, Damon. Alternate between breathing in through your nose and mouth.”

“That's it?” Damon sounded disappointed.

Stefan shrugged. “Worked for me.”

Eventually, the silence got to him. Glancing up, he saw his brother was no longer leaning against his doorway.

Where had that come from?

**Lesson Number Three: Playing With Your Food**

“Trust me, you're going to be fine,” Damon assured her.

Elena fiddled with her earrings, made sure her bracelet was secure, then applied an unnecessary coat of lipstick. Her nerves were a jumbled mess, more so than usual, and she wondered if maybe this had not been a colossal mistake. This was supposed to help her sort things out, not make them more indecipherable.

“You'll be there, right?” she asked, hating how small her voice sounded. When he did not answer, she caught his eye in the vanity mirror. “You promised.”

If he was there, she could do this.

“Of course, Elena. Nothing I enjoy more than watching you schmooze over Bazooka Joe.” Damon lounged on her bed once more, having appeared shortly after her shower. She did not want to think about how he knew the minute she was dressed when he climbed through her window.

She wanted to tell him to forget it, to go home and watch some eighties romance comedy. She _wanted_ to be able to do this without him there. She did not trust herself yet, though, and he would be there as a buffer. A reminder, if nothing else, before she could allow herself to get carried away.

“How do I look?” she asked as she turned from the mirror.

“Have you reconsidered my choice?”

Elena eyed the dress he had picked out. It was perhaps the most unflattering dress in her entire wardrobe, and resembled a half-masticated field of posies. “Have you seen me in that thing?”

He smirked. “No. But you could model it for me. Right now, if you wish.”

Elena rolled her eyes. “Come on, Damon, this travesty starts in five minutes.”

“So you agree this is a bad idea? Why are you even doing it?”

Elena rolled her shoulders, trying to relieve the tension she suddenly found there. “I have something to prove.”

“To who?” He was behind her, and she should have been startled but really, she had come to expect this from him. Invade her space, think nothing of working out the kinks in her neck as she prepared for a date with someone else.

It took her a moment to formulate a response. “Myself.”

Damon pulled away, and she acutely felt the loss. “Your date is here.”

Her ears picked up the sound of a car rolling to a stop just beyond her curb. With a shaky breath, she smoothed the denim of her shorts. Grabbing her purse, she turned to him. “Remember, I need to do this for myself. Unless it looks like I'm seriously struggling, don't intervene, okay?”

He held up his hands. “I make no promises if he tries to get fresh.” He pulled something from his back pocket and dangled it by the silver ring. “Don't forget your mace.”

Elena sighed, taking the damn thing just so he would shut up about it.

Before she could change her mind, she left her room. At the bottom of the stairs, she looked back to see Damon leaning against the top of the railing, regarding her with an inscrutable expression. She opened her mouth to say something, to call this off and just forget the impending mistake she knew she was making. She could find her answers elsewhere, or sort them out for herself over a pint of ice cream. That would be so much easier than this.

Then the doorbell rang, and reality staggered in. Offering him a small smile, a tiny condolence, she turned and waited a breath before opening the door.

Joe stood, a bit over dressed for a trip to the carnival She wondered how his blazer would fare the torment of the biting wind on some of the more wild rides. Then she saw the flowers in his hand, and she smiled.

“I wasn't sure if you were allergic or not. These are fake,” he said.

Elena blinked before accepting them. “Thank you, they're...lovely.”

He entered without an invitation, and Elena could rule vampire off the list. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she saw the top of her stairs was vacated. He followed her to the kitchen, where she pulled down a vase. At first, she started the tap, then remembered that the flowers would not need it. Plunking them in the container, she turned to him.

“So, I haven't been to this carnival. Anything I should know about it? Any questionable sorts like to hand around?”

Joe thought a moment. “Not sure. I'm new to the town, so I've never been myself.”

He offered her his elbow, which she took. He led her outside, to his car, and held the door open. He was being a gentlemen, but there was something about the way he moved she found to be dull.

She just hoped he was wrong.

xo

Damon had seen enough cop movies to know how to tail someone. He waited until they were a safe distance away before he started his car, kept a considerable distance between them, and dutifully followed Elena as nothing more than a chaperone.

As he pulled into the carnival parking lot, he wondered for the hundredth time why he was doing this. This Joe person made his teeth ache with the saccharine sweetness he could feel rolling off the other man. Elena would have fun, or pretend to, and deny what she truly was if this farce continued.

The simple answer to the complicated question was, she had asked.

He got out of the Camaro and slammed the door shut, needing to vent his frustration on something. Damon had sworn he was done with this, and now it was her choice. He was done being the one to take a step forward when all she did was take two steps back. The dance was fun at first, but he was tired.

With irritation welling inside, he weaved through parked cars and gaggles of teens for the entrance.

This was going to be a long night.

xo

The car ride had been uneventful. She had fielded the questions about herself, and found out more about him. He was an architect, which would have been fascinating had he not kept asking about the different buildings in Mystic Falls. It was not that she did not care, she just did not know. The only building she knew of that he would be remotely interested in was the Salvatore's home, and there was no way she was going to invite Joe into that aspect of her life.

When they arrived at the carnival, she was ready for the night to be over. It was not that Joe was dull, but he was just so human. Not in the way that she wanted to pull his car over and devour his arteries, but in the mundane way she had not experienced in a long time, even before she turned.

Was this what normalcy was?

He placed his hand on the small of her back as he led her for the entrance, and she scanned the crowd for familiar blue eyes.

Finding none, she sighed. This was going to be a long night.

xo

Joe hated fast rides. They upset his stomach. He did not eat greasy food, and complained about the lack of food that would satisfy his delicate palette.

The only ride he agreed to ride was the teacup ride, and even that was with a questionable look. It was not until they were seated, when she scanned the crowd again, that she saw Damon take the seat across the ride. As the attendant made sure his seat was secure, Damon pointed both fingers at his eyes before turning them at Joe. _I'm watching you,_ he mouthed.

Joe was oblivious as he said something he believed to be funny. The absurdity of the situation forced a laugh from her. She was surprised that it was not the forced mirth she was used to, but an honest to God laugh that left her sides aching.

Then the ride started, and she played a game. Each time the ride spun, she sought out Damon's eyes. With her hands in the air, she laughed again as the ride came to a stop.

That was perhaps the most fun she had all evening. It was not until she left Joe at a bench to ride one of the more wild rides, and to allow his 'tummy' to recover, that she felt she could breathe again.

The Gravitron had always been a favorite of hers. The g-forces pushing her, and the sensation of flying, and she wondered if it would change for her now.

Wringing her fingers, she waited in the long line. Glancing behind her, she saw that her vision of Joe was obscured by the thick crowd.

“How's it going with Captain Snoozefest?” Damon asked behind her. Amidst the throng of bodies, he had managed to sneak up on her.

“You've been listening in, you tell me,” she said.

“He's a bore. You should just cut your losses.”

A part of her wanted to. Another part wanted her to see this through. “That wouldn't be nice.”

“Since when are you nice?”

Elena ignored him, and the sting, as she surveyed the crowd. Instead, she looked at him. “What are you doing here?”

“You asked me to come, remember?”

“No, I mean the ride. And the teacups. I never pictured you as the type.”

Damon shrugged. “Figured there was a first time for everything.”

Her eyes widened. “You mean you've _never_ been on the Gravitron?”

“Kind of what 'first time' implies, Elena.”

“Oh, how much you've missed,” she said. She grasped his hand and tugged his hand until he leaned down. “Don't worry, I'll be gentle.”

Damon snorted. “Then what's the point?”

When it was their turn, the room was crowded. People chattered as they waited in anticipation of what was to come. Elena felt her nerves tingle with anticipation as she listened to the safety instructions.

“So what, no safety harnesses?” Damon murmured beside her.

“No need. Gravity does it for us.” She was practically vibrating in her eagerness, and when she turned to face Damon, he was watching her in amusement.

The ride started, and she could feel the centrifugal force immediately. It pressed her and held her down as the ride spun faster.

Finally the ride reached its pique speed, and she knew it would last at least long enough to make the price of admission worth it. With less effort than she expected, she rolled to her stomach and grinned.

Damon eyed her with mild curiosity. When she was little, there was something she had wanted to do, that she had seen the older kids do, but her parents had been too worried about her safety. She had had to agree not to do it before they allowed her on the ride. Now, though, she felt no compulsion. So she did what she had wanted to do, rose to her hands and knees, and climbed the wall.

She giggled when her elbows almost gave way. She caught Damon's eye. He looked casual, as though sitting up on a vertical wall was something he did every day.

Deciding to try something, Elena pushed away from the wall. The force made it hard, even with her vampire strength, and it took her a little bit to push away. Damon, seeing what she was attempting, held out his hand for his support. She clasped it and used his strength to push away from the wall until she was perpendicular to the floor on her knees. Releasing his hand, she spread her arms wide and threw her head back, for once actually enjoying what she was.

The ride ended too soon. She staggered a little as she stepped off the platform, and turning she saw Damon shaking his head. “If Mister Nappytime were on that ride, we'd all be painted green.

Elena blamed her laughter on the adrenaline of the ride.

“Now go on, Spidey, I'm sure your date is eagerly awaiting your return,” he told her with a gentle shove on her arm.

For a moment, she had forgot who she was here with. With a curt nod, she turned and headed to where she had left her date, not looking behind her.

The rest of the evening was uneventful. Joe took her home, they said their goodbyes, and she successfully fought down the urge to tear his throat out when he gave her a chaste peck on the cheek.

Shutting the door behind her, she leaned against the hard wood. Closing her eyes, she reveled in the evening. Sure, Joe had been a bit more bland than she was used to, but that was okay. She had done it.

Grinning to herself, she opened to door as Damon came up the porch steps.

“I need a drink. You in?”

**Lesson Number Four: Catch and Release**

It would have been easier to go out. Or at the very least, not awkward.

“That was a disaster,” she said.

“Told you,” he said.

“He was so boring,” Elena whined as she leaned back into the couch.

“Generally, humans are.”

“He was only at the bar because his coworkers had bribed him with a tour of some older victorian houses in the area.”

“I'm surprised he came at all,” he muttered.

There was something off about him. “You okay?”

“Just peachy,” he said before downing his drink. He picked up the bottle on the coffee table and poured himself another glass.

“Damon,” she said, mildly annoyed.

He was silent for a moment before chuckling without mirth. “God, when did I become your gay BFF?”

Elena furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “That's not what this was about at all.”

“No? You ask for dating advice, I give suggestions on your outfit, I follow you around on your date. It's either that or something more pathetic.”

“Damon, tonight was a success,” she said.

“I thought you said he was boring.”

“He was, but that wasn't what this was about. That wasn't why I needed to do this.”

Damon stared at her. “Then why the hell put yourself through that?”

“Don't you see? I did it. I survived a normal night on my own. I didn't go crazy, or insane, and only wanted to tear out his throat once or twice. The point is, I survived this, without you.”

She could see the tongue working against his cheek. “Gee, Elena, what are you trying to say?”

“All this time, since this began, I have been relying on you. Tonight, I was able to do this on my own, Damon. I don't _need_ you anymore.”

He nearly slammed his glass onto the coffee table, his jaw ticking. When he looked at her, his eyes flashed. “That's always good to know, Elena.”

“That's not what I meant,” she began, trying to get a grip on his arm but he shook her off.

“It's nice you finally know what you want,” he sneered as he stood. “About damn time.”

He was near the door when her throat began to work again. “That's what this whole thing was about, Damon, figuring out what I want!”

He paused but did not turn around. She could see the tension in his shoulders.

“You told me that I had to figure it out for myself. That's what this was. I didn't want to do anything until I knew for sure, until I figured out what it was that I wanted. That's what tonight was about.”

“What are you even talking about, Elena?” he demanded as he turned around. His walls were up now, and she hoped she would be able to scale them this time.

“I didn't lie, I don't need you. This isn't because you're teaching me, or showing me the way,” Elena swallowed. She took a few tentative steps toward him and felt emboldened enough to continue when he did not step away.

He sighed, rolled his eyes and shook his head. “What's not?”

Elena was close enough now that she could feel the heat emanating from him. It was hard to look at him, so she focused on the button of his shirt. “I don't _need_ to be with you, Damon.” Finally she looked up, because she owed him that much. “I _want_ to be with you.”

He stood still, not saying a word. It was unusual for him to be so quiet. She took the initiative, wondering if maybe she had read things wrong, that she had waited too long. Still, she had to know. Framing his face in her hands, she leaned up and pressed her lips to his.

It was a slow melt at first, but soon, he made it clear that he believed her. He surged forward, took control, and then she was lost.

xo

The sun filtered in through her curtains, and though she laid in shadow could still feel the heat lighting her room. She could also feel fingers walking up her bare spine before a sure palm smoothed down her back.

Stretching, Elena rolled over as she fought off the vestiges of sleep. She felt warm and honest to God happy for the first time in who knew how long.

She knew things weren't going to be a bed of roses. There would be fights between them, and undoubtedly he would find ways to press all the wrong buttons before pressing all the right ones.

Still, as she opened her eyes, she saw something that would make it all worth it.

Damon was staring at her, not with a smirk, or a jeer or a leer. But with a smile.


End file.
